


Better Than Love

by skargasm



Category: Angel The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skargasm/pseuds/skargasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this picture <a href="http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/comlodge/31110026/151810/151810_original.jpg">here</a> and kindly lent to me by Comlodge to use as a story banner. Two hearts that have been twisted and spat out by love....</p>
<p>
  <a href="http://comlodge.livejournal.com/96614.html"></a>
  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Love

Looking up, it was one of the first times he realised the effect he had on Spike and he felt reassured. From his position on his knees, a position he would formerly have described as subservient, he realised just how much power he had.

It caused quite the flurry in his brain, realigning ends that had previously not quite met, putting them solidly in one place. Pride versus desire two such ends that until this moment had seemed to fight against each other.

Spike's eyes were closed, his eyelids fluttering so that it almost looked like he was batting his eyelashes. Eyelashes that were surprisingly dark, lush and delicate at the same time as they danced on his skin. He knew he was doing something right because Spike's chest was heaving, his mouth slightly open as the breath shuddered in and out of his lungs. It was a testament to how he was making Spike feel that those sharp cheekbones stood out more starkly than ever, the paleness of his skin bright against the darkness of the wall he was leaning against for support. The hand clenched in his hair, fingers gripping just _that_ side of painful.

It was a revelation.

Pulling off, he licked the tip of Spike's cock, pushing hard at the slit with his tongue for a moment. A smile crossed lips that were puffy and red from sucking as he heard Spike's harshly indrawn breath, and he slid his hand back and forth, squeezing gently. He could ask for anything now and Spike would probably say yes, would gasp his agreement if only Connor would return to his task, part his lips and let Spike thrust gently, or not so gently, into the warm wetness of his mouth and throat.

Powerful.

“Could make someone feel self-conscious the way you're staring luv.” Even Spike's voice was affected: the snark still there but lessened by how deep his voice had gone, by the husky tone that spoke more clearly than words how far gone with lust he was.

“What if I like looking?” Staring up, completely captured and enraptured by this new discovery. He kept his hand moving but just that touch too slowly, too gently to send Spike over the edge.

“Can look if you want. Don't blame you.”

“I like seeing how I make you feel when we're like this.” A small frown greeted his confession, Spike now fighting his arousal to try to focus on what Connor was saying. It was one of the things he 'loved' about him—how much Spike cared about what he was thinking and feeling, how much he made sure to show his love. But this—somehow, _this_ was more powerful.

He had never doubted Spike's love—not after the dramatic declaration, the ardent kiss in front of everyone at A.I including Angel, not after a year of hugs, touches, kisses. But somehow this moment, seeing this honest and almost clean lust on Spike's face—for him, for what he was doing—it settled something inside of him, made him just that little bit more secure.

Love was pain—for both him and Spike, it had been nothing but hardship, agony, emotional evisceration. Spike had his scars from Drusilla, Angelus and Buffy; Connor had his 'love' scars from Angel, Cordelia, Holtz, Jasmine. Love, for them, did little but tear and rip and rend apart.

But this, this honest lust? This animalistic recognition of mate, equal, partner—this made sense to the part of him that was always aware, always wary. The part of him that would always remember growing up in a hell dimension, where animal passion was always so much more honest that 'love'.

“What's going on in that head of yours?” Spike was pulling out from under the spell and he didn't want that. He wanted to hold this moment of realisation to himself, seal it with spit and come. He lunged forwards, taking Spike deep into his mouth until the silky soft head of his cock was knocking against the back of Connor's throat. One hand, squeezing whilst slip-sliding up and down the length he wasn't swallowing around; the other rolling the delicate furred orbs of Spike's balls firmly, just the way he liked it.

The thud of Spike's head falling backwards and hitting the wall said his plan was working, and he picked up speed and added more pressure. An infinitesimal swelling, the kick of hard flesh in his mouth, the tightening of Spike's balls in his hand and he was swallowing down the briny, slightly coppery taste, relishing the pull on his hair as Spike showed how much he trusted him and let go, legs giving way, vulnerable pants for air as he slid to the ground next to Connor.

Holding Spike close, he licked off the spunk that he had missed swallowing that slicked his hand, rocking his mate back and forth. This—the honest love, the bone-deep trust—meant more to Connor than all the declarations, platitudes and hugs.

This right here was better than love.

* * *

fin

* * *


End file.
